


Wintanceaster

by Haelblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Christmas in the Bunker, Episode: s11e04 Baby, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 11, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, spoilers for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haelblazer/pseuds/Haelblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean goes overboard with Christmas decorations in the bunker, there is at least one cursed object, and Sam sees Dean and Castiel through new eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wintanceaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlehuntress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/gifts).



When Sam finally checked in on him, Dean was sitting on the floor, propped up against the foot of his bed, and meticulously painting a blue tie onto an angel tree-topper. He’d been huddled away in his room for hours, leaving Sam and Cas with no explanation when they started to stumble across the decorations that he’d left draped around the most frequently used areas of the bunker. There were toy elves on the library tables, Santa hats on the kitchen appliances, and ribbons on every car in the garage (except for the impala, which was sporting a big red bow). According to Cas, there was even tinsel wrapped around the chains in the dungeon.

_“You checked the dungeon?”_

_“Of course.”_

_Cas looked as if he couldn’t understand why Sam_ wouldn’t _have checked the dungeon._

_“Uh…okay.” Sam shook his head and decided to just take his word for it._

It wasn’t hard to believe that Dean had decorated the dungeon when they considered the state that the rest of the bunker was in. Sam had gone to sleep to a normal bunker and woken up to find his door wallpapered. He’d assumed that Dean was attempting a very mild prank on him but then he spotted the wallpaper on Dean’s door as well. Before he had a chance to consider if Cas would have done something like this, Cas himself walked around the corner with a ridiculous frown on his face, tinsel caught in his hair, and a string of lights dragging along behind him from where it was tangled around his left foot.

“I believe Dean has gone overboard with the decorations.”

Sam had to agree.

There were so many fake snowflakes in the library that it looked like a souvenir snow globe from Oxford. Now, on Dean’s bedroom floor, there were at least seven discarded tree-topper attempts scattered around him; each of them with partially painted black hair and tan trench coats.

“So, what, did you rob a Hobby Lobby?” Sam gestured toward the pile of half-painted tree-toppers. For just a few seconds Dean looked confused before the words registered and he scowled.

Dean picked up one of the rejected tree-toppers and shook it at Sam, “I got these at a hardware store.”

Sam sighed; he didn’t want to argue about this, but Dean was grumbly in that way that meant he was worried that Sam was going to call him out on something and he was preemptively getting defensive. He couldn’t really expect them all to act like they hadn’t noticed anything different this morning. There was a seven foot tall tree in the war room, already partially decorated and surrounded by boxes of ornaments. It was the kind of thing that one would expect other people to notice. Sam would have rolled his eyes, but he just managed to stop himself when he realized that Dean had deliberately avoided shaking the angel that he was currently working on. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the decorations—honestly, he’d been going back-and-forth between thinking it was a prank or a mental break, possibly a bit of the latter disguised as a lot of the former…but maybe it wasn’t either of those things at all. At the very least, whatever he’s doing was thought out enough that he really seemed to care about getting it right.

It didn’t take more than a few seconds of looking at the tree-toppers for Sam to realize who they were supposed to be.

“Oh!” The realization in Sam’s voice must have touched whatever nerve Dean was guarding because he glared up at him again.

 “Shut up, Sammy.”

“All I said was ‘oh!’”

“And all I said was ‘shut up’.” For all of his defensiveness about what he was doing, it wasn’t enough to trump his obsession with getting it right because his attention was soon back on his painting.

This conversation clearly wasn’t going to happen then and there, so Sam decided to try again later. When he left, Dean still looked unsatisfied with his work and Sam wondered how many of those tree toppers he’d bought. As he left the room, he heard Dean mumbling to himself, “I can’t remember the color of his wings.”

*

Two hours later, Sam headed out to the main room and stopped short when he realized that Dean was lurking a few feet behind Cas, who was smiling up at the tree-topper.

It had glittery black wings.

Sam decided to break the chain of creepily watching people from behind, so he walked up beside Dean and elbowed him in his side.

Dean elbowed him back, “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Cas looked back over his shoulder and grinned. “Winchesters.”

*

There were eight bags full of ornaments. Three of the bags had the Hobby Lobby logo on them.

“Where did you even find one?” Sam held one of the bags up and laughed, “Did you drive out to Topeka?”

Dean tried to snatch the bag away, but Sam just held it up out of his reach so that he’d have to jump if he wanted to grab it. Dean glowered at him.

Meanwhile, Cas started poking around the remaining bags. “The Kearney, Nebraska location is more likely. I would have noticed if he’d traveled much farther than that.”

Sam and Dean both turned to him, mouths open to ask a question that neither of them could quite formulate.

*

“Do we need to have an intervention?” Sam tried again since Dean was clearly not going to explain what was going on without any prodding. “Come on, Dean, what are these? Yorkie hellhounds?”

“I got you one to represent that dog that you hit with your car.”

Sam frowned as deeply as he could possibly frown, “Riot was an Australian Shepherd.”

“Yeah, well yorkies were on sale three for the price of one,” Dean picked them up one-by-one as he spoke. “Riot is a yorkie. The Colonel is a yorkie. Garth is a yorkie.”

“Wow, Dean…just…wow,” Sam shook his head and decided to move away from the ornaments and instead fix the string of lights that had been bundled in a corner sometime after Cas broke free of it.

“Whatever, man,” Dean started gathering up a bag and carrying it over to tree—only a few steps closer, really, but it meant that instead of standing at the table he could sit beside Cas. Sam allowed himself a few seconds to feel like a giant heel—Dean clearly held off on dressing the tree because he wanted them to do this together. He could of course be the bigger man and go along with things whether Dean decided to let him in on why he was doing this in the first place. One of the great things about having Cas here with them though was that Sam didn’t feel the pressure that he knows he would have felt if he’d left Dean relatively alone just now.

This wasn’t something that they should do while snapping at each other. It was supposed to be a happy thing, or at least nostalgic. Maybe it was Sam, maybe he just needed to relax into the mindless activity of untangling a few yards of Christmas lights and then he’d be in more of a state where he could just enjoy whatever Dean was doing here without questioning him about it. Until then, he had Cas to help him.

Sam looked up at them again and decided he’d definitely made the right move. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from where he sat, but Dean was pointing to the three yorkie ornaments and explaining them to Cas, who had his brow furrowed as he nodded along, obviously memorizing the importance of each item.

Sam almost wished that he could hear the way Dean described the ornaments to Cas, but he didn’t think he ever really could. Even if Dean said the same words, he just wouldn’t say them the same way to him, and the way they thought was just so different that Sam couldn’t even imagine what was actually going on in Castiel’s head right now. So perhaps it was just as well that he couldn’t hear them now. He could see them—Cas saying something that made Dean laugh, Cas grinning in that gummy way where he isn’t sure what was so funny but he’s just happy that he made someone laugh. Usually Dean.

Sam remembered how he used to slip sometimes at Stanford, making references to things he knew from hunting. It only happened with Jess, and only when they were living together, but yeah by the end he was so comfortable with her that he’d talk to her like…well like he should have talked to her. So he’d slip up and say something about Latin for exorcisms or his ex-girlfriend feeding on pituitary glands. She’d smile at him, this big toothy grin like the one that Cas was flashing at Dean right now, and she’d tell him “you’re so weird.” She’d laugh, because her boyfriend had the strangest sense of humor but she loved him. She didn’t understand everything about him, but she didn’t need to; maybe she appreciated his delivery, maybe she just thought he was weird and cute. Either way…

Sam missed that. The way she looked at him, laughed with him. There were tears trying to sneak into his eyes and he blinked them back when he felt them. He didn’t know if they were tears of sadness about Jess or if they were tears of joy as it occurred to him that his brother had someone who looked at him like that.

*

The lights were a tangled disaster and Sam found himself wondering out loud how Cas had even gotten unraveled from all of it.

“Dean removed them for me,” Cas responded and it was only then that Sam realized how loudly he’d been complaining about the lights. Sam looked up to see Cas smiling proudly at Dean, as if Cas himself had trained Dean in the art of light-detangling. Sam looked at Dean, but Dean was pointedly keeping his attention on his ornaments.

Sam actually would have liked to join them by the tree to help with the ornaments, not just because their task was obviously more fun, but because he was realizing what a big deal the ornaments were to his brother. He’d gradually inched closer as he spread out each segment of newly-detangled light strings. Now he was close enough that he could here snippets of Dean’s explanations about each ornament. Three-for-one sales excluded, it seemed like he really had put a lot of thought into the ornaments.

A lot of heart.

There was a baseball cap ornament that was supposed to be for Bobby, a white house for Kevin, Count Von Count for Benny, and a Campbell’s soup kids air balloon ornament that Dean said he got off of eBay “for mom’s family when they weren’t a bunch of dicks.”

Every one of them had a reason, from the obvious name-based ones that were left unspoken and put up in quiet reflection (Lisa Simpson and Ben Franklin) to the more elaborate ones that required five trains of thought and twelve layers of stories to explain but were a very specific kind of perfection (the polar bear in a scarf that represented Ellen Harvelle).

There was a Hermione ornament for Charlie and a crown for when Dean was her handmaiden—Sam gave his eavesdropping away by snorting when he heard Dean explain that one to Cas. Dean flipped him the bird, but he smiled while he did it and Sam laughed more freely.

They started up an impromptu game, with Cas picking up random ornaments and guessing who they were supposed to represent. He was doing pretty well, probably around 8 for 10, until he grabbed on that seemed to throw them both off.

“This one, I’m not sure—”

“Oh, not that one—“

Sam looked up, wondering what it could be and saw Cas holding a smurf ornament and waiting for Dean to continue speaking. Dean glanced over at him, looking apologetic.

“That was for Sam if he wanted it, I don’t know, let me get another bag.”

*

It wasn’t just Dean’s past or Sam’s past that Dean had considered. Eventually, he brought out a bag that he had obviously set aside for Cas. The first ornament that he pulled out was an angel.

“Sorry, the one for Hannah is pretty generic. All I really know about her is that she seems good at running heaven and she asked you to kill me that one time, but you cared about her and she was there for you when I couldn’t be—when I wasn’t. So you deserve to have her on there.” Dean nodded at the tree and kept his eyes on the bag so he wouldn’t have to look up at whatever deep feelings he would see in Castiel’s eyes.

There was a trumpet, a magi, and Megara from Disney’s Hercules, riding a Pegasus.

Dean looked over to Sam, “Only two out of three tried to kill us, I think—”

“Pretty sure,” Sam agreed.

“That sounds correct,” Cas concurred.

“But in the end, or along the way, they were with us.”

*

In addition to all of his recent purchases, it looked as if Dean had brought out a box of variably shiny and antique looking objects to add for decoration. Sam felt kind of bad that he hadn’t been as enthusiastic about the whole Christmas thing as Dean probably wanted him to be. If he talked to him about it, he’d just say that everything was fine, of course. So the best way to show Dean that he appreciated this was to follow his lead. Sam reluctantly sighed before hanging the dog ornaments on the already over-stuffed branches.

He considered a toy soldier that he assumed was supposed to represent their father or the toys that had become part of the Impala decades ago. Whatever it was meant to signify, Sam knew it would be a welcome gesture so he picked out a prominent spot for it on a branch at about Dean’s eye-level. He shifted one of the yorkies first, then grabbed the toy soldier ornament and promptly passed out.

*~*~*

_“It was a short peace in a terrible war.”_

  * Alfred Anderson, Fifth Battalion veteran



The ground beneath him was bitterly cold and he could feel mud trying to sink through. There was brittle grass under his fingertips and it was enough to make him clench up with the realization that he was most definitely outside. He forced himself not to shoot up before he was aware of his surroundings, but he did slowly open his eyes. The sight of a cloudy grey sky didn’t tell him much more than he already knew.

There was a low scuttle of footsteps around him, the rustle of fabric, and the clang of objects being moved around. Altogether there was far too much noise for him to be anywhere near the bunker. A few voices rose up around him and even though he couldn’t make out any words clearly there was a foreign cadence to the sound around him and he knew inherently that this couldn’t be Kansas.

*Sam was taken aback by his own accent when he called out to Dean. He sounded…Scottish?

Like Sam, he was dressed in World War I infantry gear and looking flustered like someone who might have just gotten inconveniently tossed back in time.

However, Sam figured out immediately that this wasn’t his real brother thrown in here with him.

He was alone. His body went through the motions, playing his part, hoping that this fake Dean meant that this was just some kind of a dream and that he hadn’t really been sent back in time. If it was a dream, then there was a way out. There was always a way out. He just had to keep thinking and keep his head down to stay safe until he could figure out what was going on and how to get out of it.

Whatever this was, it was taking place during a brief truce and he was at least grateful for that.

*

The truce period was, in part, a time to retrieve their fallen soldiers from the no-man’s-land between the trenches. It was striking how this 1914 version of Dean did pretty much exactly what Sam had come to expect when they needed to move something as heavy a body. Dean would go in first, trying to make sure it was safe enough for Sam, and then he’d pull Sam in for the actual heavy lifting.

*

It was when Sam was helping to carry of their soldiers back from no-man’s land that he looked down and realized he was dragging his own father’s body. Twenty-something John Winchester was gently smiling up at him. “Don’t worry, kid, this is how you know you’re dreaming.”

Sam fumbled the body to the ground and muttered out a gaelic curse that he didn’t even understand. He looked around to see if anybody had noticed. Dean’s doppelganger was the only one who seemed to be paying attention, looking over curiously from where he stood talking to a German soldier who looked like Castiel.

*

“Austria-Hungary, not Germany. That’s what he says. He’s Czech or something, I think. I guess his people bent over for an empire same as ours did.” Dean was babbling about Novak, the soldier who looked like Castiel. Apparently they’d nodded politely a few times during ceasefires and escalated to sharing a few words during prisoner exchanges.

The big news now seemed to be that Novak told Dean that he’d been saving a linzer torte for Christmas Day. He’d seen Dean’s eagerness for sweets when he went for rations and thought Dean might enjoy. This Dean definitely _thought_ he was his brother, but his real brother would have definitely been more focused on the fact that they’d been yanked back through time than on the potential for pastry. At least a little bit more.

“Uh…” Sam didn’t know what he was supposed to say here. He knew enough about historical alliances to be able to nod along. From what he could tell this was one of those areas along the Western Front where the men had unofficial agreements and actually stuck by them. Sam had read about it, but it still blew his mind to imagine soldiers in trench warfare taking breaks from shooting each other while they had a meal or drank tea. Maybe this was just a reenactment of some distant memory from history class.

*

When he heard the broken shouts of “marry Christmas,” Sam suddenly realized what day it was and his earlier conversation made a bit more sense.

*

Enemies the day before and enemies tomorrow, today there was a ceasefire. Soldiers from opposing sides spoke to each other, shared their food, and in the case of the fake Dean and Castiel they exchanged buttons.

It reminded Sam of those 1950s couples who would wear each other’s pins.

For the third time in as many hours, Sam was startled. This time it was because of the sudden presence at his side—an apparition of a young John Winchester again.

“You appear to be having a vision,” he smiled, making it clear that any puns or double-meanings aren’t lost on him.

“Is any of this real?” Sam asked and he felt absurd when he realized that he didn’t even know whether this thing he was talking to was anything more than a figment of his imagination as well.

“They are…Dean and Castiel. As they always are.”

Sam watched as Dean rubbed a thumb over the button; it wasn’t until he brought it, clenched in his hand to hold over his heart, that Sam felt like he was intruding on something incredibly private. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, whether any of this was real or not.

“These two…they got lucky. Some enemy soldiers just shot. Fraternization…it’s precarious. I suppose one could find comfort knowing that hostilities didn’t return here as quickly as they did in other places. Then again, they _did_ return. _A rare moment of peace before suffering._ What do you think it means?”

The question faded and then warped into a baritone ringing that echoed and escalated into a painful scream as Sam was yanked back into reality.

*~*~*

Sam returned to Dean shaking him by the shoulders and screaming “Sammy!” uncomfortably close to his face. He instinctively pulled back to get away from the loud shouting and from this new vantage point he could see Cas moving the toy soldier back into the box with a pair of tongs.

Once Sam had reassured them for the fourth time that he was okay, Cas declared that he would secure the item somewhere safe. Dean wanted him to just destroy the thing, but Cas said they needed to keep it intact until they knew what exactly it had done to Sam. It was probably guilt that had Dean giving in so easily, but he grumbled “fine” and demanded that Cas grab a pair of rubber gloves from the kitchen before even touching that box or those tongs again.

“I’ve got this,” Cas assured him and reached into his coat pocket to pull out a pair of mittens and carry the box away.

“Why did he--?” Sam started to ask just as Dean said “I don’t even ask anymore.”

“But you, what the hell happened?” Dean’s eyes were wide and he looked freaked out and Sam wanted to tell him, but he realized that this concerned Cas too.

“I’m guessing the toy soldier wasn’t one of your special ornament selections?”

“I didn’t even go through that box yet,” Dean shook his head, “It was the only thing in this place that looked like it _wasn’t_ full of cursed objects, so I just grabbed the whole thing.”

 “We should wait for Cas to get back,” Sam decided. _No more secrets._

*

After Sam told Dean and Cas about his vision, Dean was berating himself, saying he should have been more careful and, while it was technically true, Sam didn’t want him to dwell on it.

“Dean, it wasn’t real, and I knew it wasn’t real. I knew that I would get out of there,” Sam tried to reassure him, but it didn’t seem to help all that much.

“It doesn’t matter if it was real or not. I got you sent into a goddamned war zone. We don’t know if that was a dream or a vision or what, anything could’ve happened to you there. Never mind if…fuck, what if Cas had touched it?” Dean looked like he was going to be sick. “What if I had sent Cas back into another war without me?”

_Without me._

Sometimes Dean’s word choices spoke volumes that he wouldn’t let himself consciously speak.

“I agree,” Cas surprised Sam then because for the most part he’d been steadily telling Dean not to beat himself up like that, but of course he continued, “I don’t like that this vision made me your enemy.”

“Yeah, well screw that vision. Even when it tried to make enemies out of it, it was still you, me, Sammy, and pecan pie.”

“I believe Sam said it was a linzer torte.”

“You, me, Sammy, and the closest thing to pecan pie on a battlefield in 1914.”

*

“I know that we are making efforts to avoid secrets, but I believe this kind of gift-giving would be the exception, correct?” Cas seemed unsure of his idea to surprise Dean by adding a special ornament to the tree.

Sam reassured him that Dean would be happy to know that Cas wanted to do something special for him.

It wasn’t at all surprising when Cas selected a Cherry Pie à la Mode glass ornament.

He also ended up buying a Bumble in Tinsel ornament because it made him think of himself, all tangled up in tinsel when he first encountered Dean’s decorations.

It was clearly already blossoming into a fond memory.

*

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that Dean noticed a few new additions to the tree, but only one of them made him to a double-take. It was the one that Sam had put there specifically for that purpose, but he’d put it up there long after they’d all split up to go about their normal evenings.

“I already got a sheriff star ornament up there for Jody. Who are the handcuffs supposed to be? Donna?”

“Oh,” Sam didn’t lift his eyes from his laptop, which should have immediately made Dean suspicious even if his overly innocent tone did not. “That’s for you and Cas and your profound bondage.”

Sam knew there was a pillow flying toward his head before he even saw the shadow.

*

In the morning, Sam found Dean in the kitchen, relieved that Cas wasn’t there for this conversation. He was planning to wait until Christmas Day to give them the real ornament, but he thought better of it. He didn’t want to go that long with Dean knowing what Sam had realized. It felt wrong to keep that from him.

“No secrets between any of us, I know, but…I didn’t want to say this in front of Cas because I wouldn’t do that to you guys. I wouldn’t have even made the bondage joke with him there, you know? Because it puts you in this weird position—”

“Can we jump ahead to the part of this conversation that doesn’t involve you talking about Cas and bondage putting me in a weird position?”

“…” Sam stalled, thinking back and realizing what he’d just said. “Ugh, Dean, I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.”

“Not doing too great of a job at it, are you?” Dean laughed.

“Obviously not,” Sam sighed. Oh well. The whole point of the silly handcuff ornament was an effort to keep the mood light after they’d had such a serious day. So at least that mission had been accomplished. Good for yesterday!Sam.

*

“I’ll admit it right now, I stole the idea from Cas,” Sam said as he plunked his brown-paper-wrapped present down in front of Dean. “He figured you should get some ornaments up there for you.”

“That mean I’ve got another one of these coming?” Dean grinned over at him.

Sam huffed out a short laugh, “Yeah, you’ve got another one coming. One more from me too, but I don’t know, you left those handcuffs up there so maybe I don’t need to give you guys the replacement one.”

“ _’You guys’_?”

“Yeah, you and Cas. I mean, technically the profound bond thing is for both of you.”

Dean shrugged it off, “Whatever, man, you don’t have to talk me into taking another present.”

Sam knew that his brother would blame curiosity if Sam pressed the issue, but now that he was paying attention he saw that on a deeper level Dean liked the idea of receiving something that was meant for both of them. For Dean and Cas.

Sharing really never meant less to him, it meant more. It sounded like a line from somebody who was trying to sell something, but Sam could see it in him. And maybe they were all an outpouring of clichés. Maybe giving really was better than receiving. Because Sam had a handprint Santa for Dean and Cas and he couldn’t wait to give it to them.

He’d decided to go handmade with both of his “real” ornaments. “I know you wanted to go all-out this year, and I could have just bought one, but you’ve got me thinking about the last Christmas that we actually celebrated, and I kind of wanted to make the spirit of that a part of this too.”

It was immediately clear when Dean unwrapped the paper that this wasn’t a licensed ornament, but was instead a Hot Wheels toy with dental floss tied through car window.

“It’s awesome, Sammy.” Dean chuckled and then smelled the floss.

“Minty,” Dean said like he was impressed.

Sam laughed, knowing that his brother probably really _was_ impressed, “Seemed more in the holiday spirit than cinnamon.”

*

“Come on, cough it up, the kid squealed on you,” Dean pointed his thumb over at Sam, who raised his hands in protest.

“Hey, I just said I stole the idea from him, I didn’t say he actually had a chance to get anything yet.”

“Wrong,” Dean pointed at him again, using an actual pointer finger this time, “You said that I had an ornament coming to me from Cas over here.”

Dean poked Cas, who was doing a poor job of looking stoic.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dean.” Cas repeated for the third time that morning.

He lasted another seven minutes before giving in and telling Dean that the bag was hidden in one of the cars near the Impala.

*

Sam didn’t get to see Dean open this gift from Cas.

On Christmas morning they would open their gifts together. On Christmas eve they would share a real meal, put together by Dean and his two helpers. They would finish the night off with what would become the traditional treat of power bars and eggnog, and then Dean would sneak off to check on Baby’s fuel and make that she was well fed too. Maybe he spoke out loud to her, shared his day with her, or just enjoyed the feeling of the seats that had been their home for almost three decades. And then, knowing Dean, he would kiss her on the windshield, or maybe the trunk and tell her “good night.”

And because this Christmas Eve was special, when he told Baby goodnight and came back inside, Dean would still be home.

But for Dean it had never been all about the bunker. He told them that first afternoon when Sam and Cas were stumbling over trimmings (and Cas was looking like a cat caught up in a ball of yarn), “I haven’t celebrated a damn thing since this one pulled me out of hell—and once again, thanks for that—but this year I’m gonna put up some damn tinsel.”

Being in the bunker was something special, but this year’s Dean would have been putting up tinsel in any given motel if the three of them were there together.

As it was though, the bunker had become a second home and it made a Christmas like this seem especially possible. For once they had a place and they were all together and who knows if they would be able to say that next year, but for now…

On Christmas morning, they would all open their gifts.

On Christmas Eve they would all eat together.

And long before that the pie and the Bumble ornaments would have a place on the tree alongside a smurf and a badly drawn Australian Shepherd stuck to cardboard.

But on this unnamed winter evening, somewhere in the holiday season, Dean and Cas would have a gift exchange that no one else could recount. In the garage of the bunker, with only the Impala and a few dozen other cars as witness, there was a moment made just for them.


End file.
